


young folks

by aristotle



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bucky likes music and boxing, Coming of Age, Famous Director Howard Stark, Howard Stark is a terrible father, M/M, Mexican Tony Stark, Native American Bucky, Slow Burn, Tony is an amateur filmmaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8460430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aristotle/pseuds/aristotle
Summary: The second semester of Tony Stark's junior year began as dry and uneventful as the first; the cold weather and his ability to preen with fancy peacoats and sweaters only slightly softening the dread that came with the start of a new semester.That is, until he met the new student.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pelnakhara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelnakhara/gifts).



> An early birthday gift for Misha! Because I love them and they love Tony and Bucky just as much as I do
> 
> accompanying mix: https://8tracks.com/aristotiles/young-folks

**January 11 th, 8:00 AM, EST**

“You hear about that new kid?”

Tony was slightly taken off guard by the sudden words; him and Rhodey were anything but silent people, mind you, but being the first day of the new semester, neither of them were energetic enough to fill the silence between them with meaningless chatter.

Or, at least, Tony wasn’t.

“Huh?” Is all Tony managed, a noncommittal turn of his head towards his friend letting him know he was listening.

“The new kid. Jamie? That kid from Brooklyn. Kinda tall. Long hair. Follows Rogers around like a pup.” He waved his hands as he spoke, animating his description and signaling towards what Tony could only assume was the general direction of Brooklyn. He frowned a bit, scanning his memory for a person to match the description.

“James?” He asked, peeking out from behind the thick red scarf wrapped around his neck. “As in Barnes?”

“Yeah! That’s it.” Rhodey said with a smile, walking slightly closer to his companion now that he seemed to have woken from his two-week long hibernation. “You know him?”

Tony only gave a shrug in response. “Not really. Well, not personally. He makes appearances at my dad’s dinners occasionally. He’s like Brooklyn’s JROTC poster boy. Like… literally. He’s on the brochures.”

Rhodey frowned at the concept. In Manhattan, Rhodey proudly took that role. He was by no means the type of person to hate someone on that sort of principle, but he also wasn’t one to let himself be replaced without a fight. And surely not to someone who preferred the company of _Rogers_ of all people.

Tony eased the slight tension that rose up in Rhodey's posture with a pat on the back, speaking with the comforting, cocky grin that only a Stark could manage. “Don’t sweat it, buddy. I doubt the kid’ll come after your job. You’re our star, y’know? You’re like the class stud. And you’re probably pretty important in that military nerd club too.”

“JROTC.” Rhodey corrected flatly.

“That’s what I said.”

**January 11 th, 9:00 AM, EST**

Tony made note of the new student who stood silently in the corner of the room. He was hunched slightly Ms. Carter, meeting the considerably smaller woman halfway to speak. She spoke to him like an old friend, warm smiles and comforting gestures as she explained the basic workings of the history classroom; James, try as he might, did his best to reciprocate the generosities, offering two atrociously forced smiles and a gentle hug, almost as if the larger student was afraid of crushing the poor woman. Tony found it strangely endearing.

As the buzz of first period drew to a close with the late bell’s last ring, the new student settled himself in the seat he had been assigned: the blank seat next to Tony, previously occupied by one Clint Barton before an unfortunate infraction had him now seated at the other side of Ms. Carter’s desk, where his signature snark had been repurposed from class reactions to reactions from the teacher herself. He was a royal pain in the ass; everyone knew it. But he was a sweet kid. He never meant any real harm in what he said. Everyone knew that too.

“Aw, Miss, that’s my seat!” The blond boy said, hair sticking out as if he’d ran through it with a brush a single time before arriving.

“It _was_ your seat.” Ms. Carter quipped, a sly smile spread across her lips.

“Aw, whatever Miss. I like sitting here better anyways.”

“I’m sure.”

The class went on, the pair’s conflicting personalities providing for an entertaining banter to accompany Ms. Carter’s already delightfully colorful and immersive lectures. She was a highly respected teacher at the school, and a highly beloved member of the community. Even the few students that caused trouble in her classes were respectful of her, and normally created problems more out of an inability to _not_ cause trouble more than any outstanding dislike of her teaching.

Tony kept a careful eye on his new neighbor, partially out of harmless curiosity and partially out of something more that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Manhattan was an unpredictable city; people came and people went just as the leaves on the trees fell and grew again. Odds were this kid would be gone just as quickly as he appeared, Tony left with nothing but empty air occupying the seat beside him.

But, of course, a risk like that could hardly stop a man like Tony Stark.

\--

James Buchanan Barnes was an enigma. Standing at a towering six-foot-two, the kid was practically made of solid muscle, from head to toe. His hair was tied back in a bun, revealing the best stubble a seventeen-year-old could manage, complimenting the sharp features of his jaw and cheekbones.

But, stunning image that he was, he was just about invisible. Had Tony not known about the kid beforehand, he wouldn’t have even noticed the desk wasn’t empty anymore. He was silent, only making noise when it was necessary, eyes on the board and the board alone. Even when he spoke, (the one time the teacher had actually called on him directly) he spoke in short sentences, only letting the slightest Brooklyn accent slip out against his vowels. It seemed like he wanted nothing more than to go unnoticed by his peers, only seen when he wanted to be, and only heard when he needed to be. He was just the type of person nobody would ever see caught dead with Tony Stark, but just the type of person Tony always seemed to gravitate to. And from the way Tony lingered on him, eyes tracing the contours of brown skin against his red sweater, James was no exception.

Ms. Carter concluded the lesson with a smile, as she did every day, wishing the class a good day and settling herself back in her desk as the classroom slowly rose into a soft hum of students conversing, waiting for the bell to corral them to their next classroom.

Normally Tony would join Clint and Nat in their corner of the classroom; maybe they'd make plans for the weekend, or maybe they'd just talk shit about whoever they were mad at for the week. But a certain new student seemed much more interesting. At least, until he had the full picture on who James Barnes actually was outside of a pretty face to print against a few brochures to add some color to the otherwise white majority of students in the program.

Before he could make the first move, he was suddenly greeted with the slightest tap on the shoulder by the behemoth beside him.

“What time’s the bell ring?” is all James asks, and Tony takes the new perspective to memory before he can respond.

His sweater was falling apart, is Tony’s first observation. The messy red fabric was practically hanging on by seams, holes in the hems and tears in the sleeves giving the slightest look at the white shirt he wore underneath.

He also had a nametag. It was something the school had done traditionally for the freshman; they wore them for the first few days of school to encourage socialization and acceptance, or something of the like. Personally, Tony thought they were a little impersonal for high school students. They were also probably more for the teacher's benefit than the students.

Apparently James shared similar feelings toward the accessory. His nametag had his name neatly written in red marker, a trademark of the school’s vice principal who had the unfortunate job of filling the slips of paper for each set of new students. But, rather than leave the name alone, he had taken what appeared to be a black marker and scribbled _BUCKY_ over it in his especially crude handwriting.

“Nine fifty-five.” Tony began. “The late bell rings at ten, so I’d hurry. The security is especially anal about tardiness at the beginning of the semester.”

“Oh.” Is all he gets back, as if Bucky wasn’t expecting anything beyond a two-word answer. “Thanks.”

Bucky frowns, unfolding a crumpled piece of paper that had been smashed between the pages of his history book. A quick peek to his side revealed it to be his schedule, and Tony, being the nosy man that he was, put two and two together before opening his mouth once again.

“Mr. Fury is in building Q. It’s past the courtyard, just before the football stadium. There’s a bench shaped like the American flag right in front of it.” He explained, smugly packing the rest of his supplies as he spoke.

Bucky looked at him, slightly dumbfounded for a moment, as if he’s not immediately sure Tony is talking to him. He glanced at his schedule one more time, then turned back to Tony.

Tony rose from his desk, giving his neighbor a supportive pat on the back. “I’ve got Ms. Hill next. She’s just next door. I’ll walk you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—“

“I know I don’t. That’s what makes me so generous.” Tony’s sentence was accompanied with a dashing grin, to which he received the slightest chuckle in response.

“I’m Tony, by the way.” He began, extending a hand. “Tony Stark.”

He didn’t get a response at first; Bucky seemed to be deciding whether or not to humor the kid. But just before any doubt could form in Tony’s mind, a firm, calloused hand met his own.

“Bucky.” Is all he says. No first name. No last name. Just Bucky.

Yet somehow, Tony knew it was much, much more.


End file.
